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Read Ebook: Planet of No-Return by Peacock Wilbur S Fox Matt Illustrator
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Ebook has 191 lines and 10515 words, and 4 pages
Planet of No-Return
The orders were explicit: "Destroy the 'THING' of Venus." But Patrolmen Kerry Blane and Splinter Wood, their space-ship wrecked, could not follow orders--their weapons were useless on the Water-world.
Old Kerry Blane exploded.
"Damn it!" he roared. "I don't like you; and I don't like this ship; and I don't like the assignment; and I don't like those infernal pills you keep eating; and I--"
"Splinter" Wood grinned.
"Seems to me, Kerry," he remarked humorously, "that you don't like much of anything!"
Kerry Blane growled unintelligibly, batted the injector lever with a calloused hand. His grizzled hair was a stiff wiry mop on his small head, and his oversize jaw was thrust belligerently forward. But deep within his eyes, where he hoped it was hidden, was a friendly twinkle that gave the lie to his speech.
"You're a squirt!" he snapped disagreeably. "You're not dry behind the ears, yet. You're like the rest of these kids who call themselves pilots--only more so! And why the hell the chief had to sic you on me, on an exploration trip this important--well, I'll never understand."
Splinter rolled his six foot three of lanky body into a more comfortable position on the air-bunk. He yawned tremendously, fumbled a small box from his shirt pocket, and removed a marble-like capsule.
"Better take one of these," he warned. "You're liable to get the space bends at any moment."
Old Kerry Blane snorted, batted the box aside impatiently, scowled moodily at the capsules that bounced for a moment against the pilot room's walls before hanging motionless in the air.
"Mister Wood," he said icily, "I was flying a space ship while they were changing your pants twenty times a day. When I want advice on how to fly a ship, how to cure space bends, how to handle a Zelta ray, or how to spit--I'll ask you! Until then, you and your bloody marbles can go plumb straight to the devil!"
"Tsk! Tsk! Tsk!" Splinter reached out lazily, plucked the capsules from the air, one by one.
Kerry Blane lit one of the five allotted cigarettes of the day.
"Don't 'tsk' me, you young squirt," he grunted around a mouthful of fragrant smoke. "I know all the arguments you can put up; ain't that all I been hearing for a week? You take your vitamins A, B, C, D, all you want, but you leave me alone--or I'll stuff your head down your throat, P.D.Q.!"
"All right, all right!" Splinter tucked the capsule box back into his pocket, grinned mockingly. "But don't say I didn't warn you. With this shielded ship, and with no sunlight reaching Venus' surface, you're gonna be begging for some of my vitamin, super-concentrated pills before we get back to Earth."
Kerry Blane made a rich, ripe noise with his mouth.
"Pfuii!" he said very distinctly.
"Gracious!" Splinter said in mock horror.
They made a strange contrast as they lay in their air bunks. Splinter was fully a head taller than the dour Irishman, and his lanky build gave a false impression of awkwardness. While the vitriolic Kerry Blane was short and compact, strength and quickness evident in every movement.
Kerry Blane had flown every type of ship that rode in space. In the passing years, he had flight-tested almost every new experimental ship, had flown them with increasing skill, had earned a reputation as a trouble shooter on any kind of craft.
But even Kerry Blane had to retire eventually.
A great retirement banquet had been given in his honor by the Interplanetary Squadron. There had been the usual speeches and presentations; and Kerry Blane had heard them all, had thanked the donors of the gifts. But it was not until the next morning, when he was dressed in civilian clothes for the first time in forty years, that he realized the enormity of the thing that had happened to his life.
Something died within Kerry Blane's heart that morning, shriveled and passed away, leaving him suddenly shrunken and old. He had become like a rusty old freighter couched between the gleaming bodies of great space warriors.
Finally, as a last resort so that he would not be thrown entirely aside, he had taken a desk job in the squadron offices. For six years he had dry-rotted there, waiting hopefully for the moment when his active services would be needed again.
It was there that he had met and liked the ungainly Splinter Wood. There was something in the boy that had found a kindred spirit in Kerry Blane's heart, and he had taken the youngster in hand to give him the benefits of experience that had become legendary.
Splinter Wood was a probationary pilot, had been admitted to the Interplanetary Squadron because of his inherent skill, even though his formal education had been fairly well neglected.
Now, the two of them rode the pounding jets of a DX cruiser, bound for Venus to make a personal survey of its floating islands for the Interplanetary Squadron's Medical Division.
"Ten to one we don't get back!" Splinter said pessimistically.
Kerry Blane scrubbed out his cigarette, scowled bleakly at the instrument panel. He sensed the faint thread of fear in the youngster's tone, and a nostalgic twinge touched his heart, for he was remembering the days of his youth when he had a full life to look forward to.
"If you're afraid, you can get out and walk back," he snapped disagreeably.
A grin lifted the corners of Splinter's long mouth, spread into his eyes. His hand unconsciously came up, touched the tiny squadron pin on his lapel.
"Sorry to disappoint you, glory grabber," he said mockingly, "but I've got definite orders to take care of you."
"Of course!" Splinter grinned.
Kerry Blane exploded, words spewing volcanically forth. Splinter relaxed, his booted foot beating out a dull rhythm to the colorful language learned through almost fifty years of spacing. And at last, when Kerry Blane had quieted until he but smoldered, he leaned over and touched the old spacer on the sleeve.
"Seventy-eight!" he remarked pleasantly.
"Seventy-eight what?" Kerry Blane asked sullenly, the old twinkle beginning to light again deep in his eyes.
"Seventy-eight new words--and you swore them beautifully!" Splinter beamed. "Some day you can teach them to me."
They laughed then, Old Kerry Blane and young Splinter Wood, and the warmth of their friendship was a tangible thing in the small control-room of the cruiser.
And in the midst of their laughter, Old Kerry Blane choked in agony, surged desperately against his bunk straps.
He screamed unknowingly, feeling only the horrible excruciating agony of his body, tasting the blood that gushed from his mouth and nostrils. His muscles were knotted cords that he could not loosen, and his blood was a surging stream that pounded at his throbbing temples. The air he breathed seemed to be molten flame.
His body arced again and again against the restraining straps, and his mouth was open in a soundless scream. He sensed dimly that his partner had wrenched open a wall door, removed metal medicine kits, and was fumbling through their contents. He felt the bite of the hypodermic, felt a deadly numbness replace the raging torment that had been his for seconds. He swallowed three capsules automatically, passed into a coma-like sleep, woke hours later to stare clear-eyed into Splinter's concerned face.
"Close, wasn't it?" he said weakly, conversationally.
"Close enough!" Splinter agreed relievedly. "If you had followed my advice and taken those vitamin capsules, you'd never have had the bends."
Kerry Blane grinned, winced when he felt the dull ache in his body.
"I've had the bends before, and lived through them!" he said, still weakly defiant.
"That's the past," Splinter said quietly. "This is the present, and you take your pills every day, just as I do--from now on."
"All right--and thanks!"
"Forget it!" Splinter flushed in quick embarrassment.
A buzzer sounded from the instrument panel, and a tiny light glowed redly.
"Six hours more," Splinter said, turned to the instrument panel.
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